Mothers of Sorrow

Pain, longing, and a glimmer of hope.

Life’s a bloody tragedy I say, holding onto the car door and weaving slightly, The two faces within nod in agreement as I mount the sidewalk. Silhouetted against Dunkin’ Donuts I salute as Maeve drives away.

There’s no knowing when the three of us will re-work the weave of kinship — It’s been years since we last convened but tonight, over appetizers and beer, We knit ourselves together again with a few more rows of plain and purl; Airy stitches couldn’t support the anguish to be gotten through — One child dead, a brain-injured spouse, and another child dark and despondent — seeking a reason to call this world useful and herself useful in it.

The suffering advisory edged toward Severe but we backed it down with artichoke dip and truffle fries. We laughed, remembering years of wrangling contrary children and headstrong husbands. We marveled that the price of a grave was the least shocking expense of a sudden funeral.

Overgrown girls were what we were when we first met, dangling babies on our knees, bright-eyed at the future of it all, Not so hopeful now, but still we swaddle our loved ones with our thoughts — pulsing out boluses of longing that they survive, even thrive, if that isn’t too much to ask.

Maybe the universe won’t eviscerate our love again. Nor leave it to desiccate on the haggard bushes of time.

As I walk away from Dunkin’ Donuts my feet feel shackled in the gloaming, In bed, I join my sleeping husband and lay quiet while futility drills test wells in my brain. In time, the vibrations cease and I feel myself sinking under with the beer and the weariness.

And before I let go, a thought — In the morning there will be plans to execute and follies to distract.